i lay awake in bed, don’t know how i got herethere’s a knocking on the door - 1-2-3-4

it’s quite a bloody mess in here and no one feels responsiblethe fragmentation of our selves, nah, don’t be so sensibleyou know they build on sand but they call it an empireso much for cleaning up now, the middle class is fadingthose friends in higher places are deceptive clowns parading the cocaine cowboys and the wall street vampires

who distributes the migrants, who talks about the crisisnew faces to the cabinet, let’s see how thick the ice istesting distant waters, quietly behind the scenesmy arm is growing tired, of waving the white flagand now there’s nothing left to light, just filters of old fagsthe prime minister’s driving in a long black limousine

and the world goes - tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet, yeah and the birds go - tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet, yeah in a room without a roof - i’m staring at the ceilingin times like these they don't care about how we’re feeling

there’s no one left to talk to, and no one wants to listenhow can we right a wrong when all they do is reminiscingfree speech echoes, echoes from the walli lean back in my camp chair, waiting until they fall